


How Lovely It Was to Observe

by agaybloodmage



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: M/M, brief homophobia via confusion, oof more content
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-02
Updated: 2019-02-02
Packaged: 2019-10-21 03:39:16
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,600
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17635301
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/agaybloodmage/pseuds/agaybloodmage
Summary: Mildly NSFWWhat the other companions thought of a Zevran and Warden entanglement





	How Lovely It Was to Observe

If the Darkspawn didn’t kill him, Alistair was  _sure_ those two would. Only a month after they let the elven assassin stick with them like a lost kitten, he learned that the Warden was not only gay, but  _sleeping with_ said stray assassin.

He made a mental note to  _never pitch my tent so close to the Warden’s_  as he shoved his pillow over his head, trying either to muffle out the noise, or smother himself. Right now, either seemed fine. Growing up under the strict rules of the Chantry, not only was he conditioned to think such acts were incredibly sinful unless you were married, but he didn’t even know men could like each other like  _that_. And as much as he hated to think about it, since he thought of the Warden as a friend, it just, made him uncomfortable. _Why would Zevran want to lay with their Warden?_ He obviously liked women. Maybe it was because their Warden had long red hair, a slim figure, and a soft face? If it was because  _he_  looked like a woman in dim lighting, Alistair couldn’t even imagine what the Warden saw in  _Zevran_. Maybe he was charmed by his accent? Because as short as Zevran was, he didn’t look like a woman at all. As he was thinking, he noticed the tent next to his had gone quiet. Removing his pillow, he let out a sigh of relief, as it seemed the two of them were done. He could hear a conversation going on, but they were being too quiet to make out the words. Eventually, he heard the cloth of the tent shift, but he couldn’t hear footsteps leaving. He assumed it was Zevran, since often times he was utterly silent when he walked.  _Oh, so_ now _he cares about being quiet?_  Eventually, Alistair settled back to sleep, the soft crackling of the campfire finally the only noise in camp.

 

* * *

 

He looked over to where the two were sitting, knees touching as they talked by the fire. It’s now been about six months since the Warden started his little affair with Zevran, and Alistair couldn’t help but wonder how on Earth the Warden could look so  _lovestruck_.

“Oh, Zevran!” Alistair heard him laugh as he smiled. “You’ve still got some blood on your pretty little face!” Alistair watched the Warden lick his thumb, wiping off the dried blood and kissing the assassin’s tattoo. Alistair never thought he’d see Zevran look so  _open,_  and he couldn’t help but marvel at how the Warden managed to sweeten the assassin up so much. Sure, he still flirted with girls, especially Leliana, but it was nothing but an old habit, completely devoid of any sort of sexual intention. If anything, Leliana was starting to joke back, as she knew that nothing was going to come between the Warden and his lover.

_Lover_. It was still strange to Alistair seeing the two men smile at each other like a married couple. Zevran was shorter and the Warden was taller, but the Warden was certainly more feminine looking than the elf.  _How did it work?_  All his life, there’d been only man and woman, but as he watched the two sit together, the Warden washing some blood off his staff and Zevran sharpening a couple daggers- all the while being so close not even a piece of paper could come between them- Alistair wondered if the way he used to think wasn’t all too accurate.

The Warden caught him watching them, and gave Alistair a smile, waving him over to where him and Zevran sat. He grabbed his sword and a rock for sharpening it, and took his place next to the other Grey Warden. Zevran seemed to have been telling some story involving a noble and boots, and after saying a quick  _good morning_ to Alistair, he carried on. Alistair listened to him talk, and found himself enjoying the company. They were more of a couple than what he’d seen of the Arl and his Arlessa, and Alistair noticed that even though there wasn’t any promise of children and likely never to be marriage, they just loved each other, nothing more.

“Alistair?” The Warden asked, laughing. “What are you smiling at?”

“Oh,” he realized that he’d been staring at the two for a while, thinking. “I just wanted to say, uh,” he searched for the right words.

“If you wish to join us in my tent, all you need is ask!” Zevran’s comment got him a quick pinch on the cheek from the Warden.

“Yeah, uh, no thanks,” he laughed, flustered. “I just wanted to say, congratulations?”

“For? For what?” The Warden seemed quite confused.

“I couldn’t think of anything else to say,” Alistair shrugged. “But I just wanted to let you two know that I think your relationship is, uh, nice!”

The Warden’s cheeks reddened as he smiled shyly. Zevran hooked his arm around the Warden as he seemed to happily shrink into himself.

“I appreciate your approval, my friend, truly,” Zevran said, the Warden nodding in agreement. “Now, Alistair, since we’re such friends…”

“Oh, Maker, never said that, Zevran!”

 

* * *

 

_The male mind is truly one of pure simplicity,_ Morrigan thought to herself as she watched the Warden’s tent from afar, the light from the fire behind it illuminating the most  _interesting_  of shadows. The Warden was pinned underneath the elven assassin, legs in the air, hands on his back, and making some truly unique noises. If anything, the potential for blackmail was what compelled her to watch, curled up by her tiny personal fire in her base of relative solitude.

_Compelled by nothing but primitive sexuality, ‘tis a wonder any nation ruled by a King stands for more than twelve minutes!_ She let out a quiet snort as the Warden moaned loud enough to wake the next Archdemon.  _Romance is such a useless concept,_  she thought, watching the shadows on the tent move.  _At least our Warden has the sense to disregard it. Although, why lay with the elf? Sure, he’s attractive in a way, but he’s hardly trustworthy! Who’s to say he won’t slit your throat as you lie with him?_ She thought, mentally chastising the Warden.  _What a fool!_

She’d only known the Warden two months, but for as much as they disagreed, she couldn’t help but remain awake until she knew he was okay. Finally, as she saw Zevran sneak away from the tent, his usually neat hair a mess, she turned over and tried to fall asleep.

_‘Tis only because he’s the one who could get me Mother’s grimoire,_ she tried to rationalize, a frustrated expression on her face. _'Tis the only reason I care, he is no friend of mine!_

 

* * *

 

Morrigan was having an incredibly difficult time reading. The constant noise coming from the center of their camp was driving her up the wall and off a cliff. She looked up, and watched on in tired amusement as she saw the Warden slowly go insane.

“For the last time, this is _food,_  not  _venom!”_ The Warden was trying to show Zevran how to cook, something that everyone, even the  _dwarf,_ had done up to this point. Granted, Oghren had nearly boiled Leliana’s beloved Nug, but at least he hadn’t nearly set the Warden on fire.

“I apologize for my lack of cooking skills,” Zevran sighed dramatically as he flopped down on the ground, “I am an assassin, not a chef!”

“Too bad!” Their Warden sang, hoisting the assassin off the ground. “You’re learning!”

Morrigan set Flemeth’s grimoire in her bag, and made her way to the fire to watch. Zevran wasn’t at all proficient in cooking, as he’d learned only how to make poisons in life. And despite how much the Warden seemed to hate his duty in life, he was quite adamant about not ingesting toxin.

She sat on a fallen log, and watched as the Warden explained how to boil and roast meats and vegetables, all while Zevran had his face buried in the Warden’s chest, groaning in boredom. Once they finally moved on to a more practical lesson did Zevran seem to perk up. He spent most of the time pressing his back into the Warden’s front as the taller man held his hand from behind while showing him how to stir stew correctly. Morrigan never asked where he learned to cook, not really caring, but for as useless as he was when it came to battle plans and strategy, at least the man knew how to make a decent meal. As she watched the Warden rest his chin on Zevran’s head, a fairly easy task since the elf quite short, she felt almost sick seeing how they could act so  _sweet_  while the world was ending.

_Like a married couple!_ She thought. The mental image of the Warden switching out his mage’s robes for a wedding dress nearly threw her into a fit of giggles. As much as she despised the idea of romance and the myth of a happy, loving family, she couldn’t help but wonder how they’d look with a baby, a home in the countryside, after all this world-saving nonsense ended. _If they survive,_ she thought cynically.  _But truly, would they act any different than they do now? For when they have such moments, even I forget there’s Darkspawn ravaging the South, and an Archdemon raising an army… Maybe that’s what their little shows of affection were for. Perhaps in their simple minds, kissing is the only way to take their minds off the fact that they might die the next day. Perhaps, in their own strange way, they’re helping all of us too, by acting so in love, we get a false sense of hope, a baseless belief in happy endings…_  She mentally kicked the thought to the back of her mind. Such useless acts of domesticity were nothing but blind, foolish hope in an uncertain tomorrow.

She felt a warm bowl get pressed into her hands, and saw the Warden’s warm smile when she looked up. She began to eat, and thought that  _perhaps, maybe, having such a loving couple in it was doing the world a favor. Maybe that’s why our Warden is here, not only to end the Blight, but to show us the future he wants, one where he could live with the man he loves as long as he can._

Not that she’d tell him, of course.

 

* * *

 

Leliana actually enjoyed listening to the sweet music of the Warden and his lover instead of sleeping. She figured, if she couldn’t sleep through it, she may as well enjoy it. There was a constant rhythm, the heavy breathing audible due to their fairly close proximity to her tent. She knew this sort of thing was inevitable, as the Warden seemed to have eyes for the assassin since the day he was nearly killed by him. Oh, in what strange ways did the Maker work! If she let herself be honest, she’d say she missed such noise in the night. In the Chantry, as good as it was for reflection, meditation, and prayer, in Orlais, such noises were common, the night never truly silent in the cities. Whorehouses and homes alike were always filled with noise from pairs, and were truly valuable when on missions of stealth. When caught up in such acts, those involved were in their own worlds, never paying attention to who might be lurking in the shadows. A month it’d been, perhaps, since their Warden had first been intimate with Zevran, the charming Antivan Crow. In truth, if their Warden hadn’t snagged him first, Leliana wasn’t against the idea of having a go with the elf. Sure, he was a little too much of a flirt for her tastes, but he seemed well muscled and  _very_ experienced. If the Warden wasn’t exclusively attracted to men, she might’ve even asked to join them.  _Now_  that’d _be fun!_ She thought to herself. As she heard the lovely sounds of climaxes, and the heavy breathing and silence that followed, she made a mental note to never bring up the Warden’s position in bed during polite conversation.  _Maker knows he’d be embarrassed!_

 

* * *

 

Oh, how she loved to watch the two of them fight together. But even  _better_ was right afterward, once the dust had settled, as they saw each other. Zevran would look so worried afraid his Warden was injured, and the Warden, he’d always have his staff brimming with healing magic, just in case. The look in their eyes, hopeful and sometimes scared, oh, it made Leliana’s heart so  _warm!_  Their arrangement of simple passionate nights had grown and blossomed into something so much more, something  _beautiful_. A rose among only thorns, certainly. And she’d gaze at them as they sat together in camp, hands interlocked by the fire. Oh, how she remembered the day they first did that, with the Warden nearly jumping off the log when he felt Zevran’s fingers slip between his own! How lovely it was to observe, to watch them falling, both slowly and all at once.

She remembered how when she first met the Warden, how lovely he looked, long red hair, bright green eyes, a pink button nose! She’d fancied him a bit, and had to admit she thought that if they ever were to have babies, oh how lovely their hair would be! But when she saw the look in his eyes, the day they’d come across the assassin, oh how she knew she never stood a chance! He was smitten, and soon enough he was in Zevran’s bed, likely sprawled out beneath the elf having the best sex of his  _life_. But much more so than the sex was the  _love,_ the look he got in his eyes when Zevran Arainai kissed him, how he smiled and blushed like a teenage virgin when his lover chastely kissed his cheek in camp for all to see. And above all else, her heart swelled with happiness when the two of them would walk just a couple steps in front of the group so that they could walk side by side, often times with their hands clasped together. Morrigan’d make a gagging noise, sticking her tongue out. Leliana loved that, too, and even though she scolded Morrigan for being rude, she did think the childish display looked oddly cute.

But watching the two’s interactions was truly something special. It made her know in her heart the Maker was real, that only by the power of the Divine could such brightness exist among the chaos of the world. They were married without ceremony, somehow managing to tear Darkspawn to shreds while also being the embodiment of domesticity. Sure, things weren’t perfect, but nothing was.

As she retired for the night, heading back to her tent, she saw the couple by the fire, nobody else in sight. The Warden was tracing his pale index finger along the tattoos on Zevran’s face. Due to the angle, she couldn’t see too well, but she was sure Zevran’s hand was on top of the Warden’s. She noticed the Warden’s lips moving, the distinct words of  _I love you_  visible in the firelight. Zevran just nodded, smiling. Such words didn’t come easy to him, and the Warden knew that. It didn’t matter. Words like that only meant something if you acted like you meant it, and Zevran certainly did. She didn’t want to intrude further, creeping away in the shadows back to her tent.

Such love gave her hope. Everything is going to be alright.

**Author's Note:**

> Another little piece from my ZevWarden week 2017 participation!  
> Just a tiny little fic with my Warden as a placeholder, even if this isn't canon to his story!


End file.
